In the Eye
by OceansAria
Summary: This was a different Beth Greene. She smiled, but not too wide. She sang, but she didn't know the words. She slept with a .45 and a hunting knife. When the episodes came and shook her world and her mind to pieces that she struggled to gather up again, she clutched onto the cool bone handle and willed herself back to sanity. This Beth Greene didn't take any shit. Not from anyone.
1. Scars

What she remembered was her eyes flashing open, walkers upon her, and a stranger's name on her lips. She remembered blood dripping down her face and the back of her neck, blood on her hands when she touched the wound. The blood was a beacon to the undead.

She knew nothing other than that she needed help.

" _Daryl_!" She'd cried out, only to collapse back to the asphalt.

Only to wake up later wondering who the hell was Daryl and why she'd screamed for him.

* * *

She wondered what she looked like before the scars.

"Did you hear me?"

The man, Dr. Edwards, was sitting by her bed on a small metal stool with a clipboard in hand. When she flicked her eyes to his through the mirror and turned back to face him, he gulped under her intense glare. Full of contempt, of malice.

"Do you remember your name?"

"No," she says firmly, wondering why that's been the most important question these past few days. She knew, somehow, that she was _supposed_ to have a name, but she couldn't recall it. "Do you?"

Dr. Edwards smiled briefly, knowing that she simply wanted the answer. "Yes. But I was hoping you would on your own."

She wandered back to her bed. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said. "Do you remember anything from before your accident?"

 _Accident_. She touched the small, circular scar on her left temple with a tiny wince.

"I remember a man," she confessed.

Dr. Edwards brightened slightly. "Really? What did he look like?"

But she just shook her head and turned to look in the mirror again. At her scars. At her increasingly skinnier frame.

"I'm not sure," she lied.

The man in her memory was her only secret, her only comfort, and it would be kept that way.


	2. Life at Grady

Every day at Grady Memorial began with the questions.

Dr. Edwards called the questions 'memory exercises', something to work her brain towards full recovery. _Do you remember your birthday? What's your full name? Do you have a family?_

She called the questions a pain in the ass.

Every day at Grady Memorial ended with more questions, more tests, and more drugs. She couldn't sleep, so they made her. She wouldn't and couldn't eat, so they put her on an IV and hoped for the best. When she awoke screaming hours later in the middle of the night, no one came. Not anymore. They knew it was just her, crying out for reasons she would forget come dawn.

Every day that passed in her personal hellhole, crafted specifically for her it seemed, she furthered her plan to get out and find the man from her memory.

That single memory was all she had. Many times—as she washed clothes or mopped the halls, or was simply trying to avoid Edwards—she would shut her eyes and call up that quick flash of black vest and long brown hair and bare arms.

Then there was the silver spoon with the words _Washington D.C._ engraved into its face.

* * *

She'd been up and about three weeks (which was a lifetime in the new world) when they finally moved her from the makeshift ICU and to her 'old room'.

That was what bothered her more than anything: people acting like she should have remembered by now. She hated that at every turn someone was calling her 'name', someone was mentioning something she did _before_ , someone was trying to get her to remember even a flicker of who she had been.

"Didn't I have stuff in here?" she asked the girl who couldn't have been but a few years older. "Everyone says it was my room, so wouldn't I have left stuff behind?"

The girl shrugged. "You weren't here very long before you were hurt, Beth. Besides, they take all our personal effects when we get here."

"Why? It's ours. Why do they get to keep it?"

"I don't know." Another shrug of the girl's skinny shoulders. "Learned a long time ago to stop asking questions around here. You should too."

Questions were all Beth had these days. Questions, a single memory about a dark-haired, bare-armed man, and a name that didn't even feel like her own.

"What's your name?"

The girl gave a small smile, as if it pained her to even pull the muscles together and get it up onto her face.

"Emma."

Beth strained to think. _Emma, Emma, Emma._ Hoping, pleading, wishing that this name would trigger something in her dormant mind.

"Were—were we friends, Emma?"

Beth now knew why it had been so hard for Emma to smile. The barely friendly expression on the girl's face fell off much easier than it had been built, and her brown eyes turned inky in their sockets.

"No."

* * *

"I'm goin' to Washington D.C."

Dr. Edwards paused in the middle of his sentence, which Beth had interrupted on purpose, and smiled uncertainly at his patient.

"Washington D.C.?"

Polite, but on edge. That was everyone's tone around her. _Don't upset Beth. Make sure Beth doesn't get angry, and don't even THINK about telling her something she shouldn't know from before._

"Why there, Beth?" Edwards asked. "Better yet, why anywhere when you can stay here? We give you food, shelter, clothes." He wheeled closer. As if _he_ could intimidate _her_. The man hid behind the officers for protection, for Pete's sake. "Why do you think you need to leave?"

Something ugly had been building in Beth's chest since she woke up and realized the order of the food chain around the hospital. Every time someone spoke down to her as if she were a petulant, idiotic, helpless child who needed to be coddled. That ugly something made her want to wrap her thin fingers around Edwards neck and squeeze till he was the color of her sky blue scrubs.

She fought back the urge to knock the doctor's lights out and settled with appeasing to his compassionate side.

"That's where he is."

"He? Oh, you mean the man from your memory." Still smiling, that bastard. "The guy you won't tell me about."

Beth didn't respond. She refused to dignify him further.

Edwards adjusted his glasses and went on. "So you think he's there? I doubt he is, and even if he is—"

"Shut up," She wanted to cover her ears and scream. _Everyone can't be dead. Not everyone. Not him._ "He's alive."

That smug smile avalanched off Dr. Edwards' face. Beth hadn't realized how close she'd gotten to him, or that she'd picked up the pair of scissors he'd used to redo some of her stitches at the back of her head. She had not noticed that her lame hand was twitching like crazy—a sign that another episode was coming on quick—or that her breathing was loud and shallow.

"Um, Beth?" Edwards' voice wavered. Wide eyes behind thick glass stared up at her, frightened and a little fascinated. "Do you mind putting those down?"

Dropping the scissors quick, she cooled her heels and moved to the window, making sure to put a good amount of space between her and the doctor. "I-I'm sorry." But she really wasn't sorry, not even a little.

"Calm down, Beth," the doctor pleaded gently. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset," she lied.

They held each other's gaze across the room until the doctor set aside his clipboard and joined her by the window. It was nearly dark, and with no streetlights, the city was blacker than pitch beyond the hospital. Walkers were less active at night but their moans and growls rose to a crescendo above the crickets that not even glass and cement could block out.

"Why do you want to find this man?" Edwards spoke each word deliberately.

Beth realized he really was trying to be gentle, to be her friend. It was usually so hard to tell if he was being nice or being an ass. One minute, he was the bastard who wouldn't leave her alone about her damaged memory. The next he was the humane, compassionate man she knew she must have trusted once.

"He's the only person I can remember from before," Beth sighed. "He could be my family."

"And what if he isn't your family? What if he wasn't even your friend? He could be hostile, for all you know."

Beth shook her head. "My gut tells me he isn't. This man is good." She turned to the window again, staring at the ghostly high-rises reaching for the sky like skeleton hands. "And I'm goin' to find him whether you let me go easy or I have to fight my way out."

The doctor's eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. "Beth, I can't let you leave. You're still not fully recovered. And your episodes . . ."

She didn't want to think about the times her mind took over and turned against her or the minutes when she couldn't get a proper breath, or when her limbs were no longer under her control, and she screeched nonsense into the void. No matter how hard she attempted to _not think about it_ throughout the day, _it_ always got brought up.

Beth took a deep, cleansing breath. "I can handle them."

"I'm not so sure," Dr. Edwards frowned. "You've had four since you woke up. They're pretty irregular. What if you're being attacked by rotters and you have one?"

Beth shrugged. "Then I die." Death no longer loomed over her shoulder like the rest of the people left in the world. She'd beaten it once, what say she couldn't beat it again? And if she didn't, well, she didn't have anyone to mourn her. At least she wouldn't have to worry about that.

"I still can't let you leave, Beth. Not on your own."

"On my own is better." _If someone tags along, I have to make sure they don't get killed. It'll be enough to watch my own back,_ she thought.

"We can't give you any supplies."

"Are you tryin' to convince me to stay, doctor? 'Cause nothin' and _no one_ will keep me here. None of you matter to me. You're not my family and I owe you nothing besides my gratitude."

Reeling backwards, Edwards' snapped, "Wow. Don't have to be so harsh. I hear you, loud and clear."

Beth didn't sense that she'd been harsh, only honest. _Why's everyone so damn sensitive?_

"So you'll let me leave?"

Someone knocked at the door then. It was one of the young men the officers' had saved the previous week. Three teenage guys had wandered into the city and were hiding in a pawn shop when two patrol officers saved them from a horde of undead. So far, only two had made it. The third had died from a walker bite on his arm, which they'd amputated too late.

Beth couldn't help but picture the poor boy's face as she dumped his body down the elevator shaft with Emma. He had been her age, or so his license said. She'd stolen his wallet and hidden it under her mattress; she had no good reason behind her actions other than that she wished to remember him if no one else would.

"Yes, Justin?" Edwards called to the shy young man.

Justin fidgeted on the threshold. "Um, Shepard needs you in 312. Says Daniel might not make it. Needs you to call it."

Edwards pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "We'll have to finish this later, Beth." He patted her shoulder affectionately with his free hand, only for her to jerk back out of his reach. Another frown crinkled his features and a sigh escaped as he moved to follow Justin out the door. "Come by my office in the morning, okay?"

"Okay," Beth agreed.

She did this, again, only to appease to him. However she did feel slightly bad about lying to the doctor that go 'round because he really was trying to be kind.

But it didn't matter.

She knew that, come morning, Grady Memorial Hospital would be a speck behind her.


	3. Classical Conditioning

Hi y'all!

 ** _Sorry, I took this down and reposted because I thought it was stupid to start the next chappie with the same kind of format that I wanted for these scenes._**

 ** _Also, I wanted to let you all know that if it's looking like I'm writing this too fast-It's because I am! Haha I'm trying to write this story in the pace of a TV show rather than a book. They wouldn't show every step of every day on Beth's journey, just little bits here and there. Soooo that's what I'm attempting. :)_**

 ** _And, since Beth is the Christ figure, I decided to bring in a Biblical bit to the story._**

 ** _(Ahem it took her 40 days and 40 nights to find Daryl...:P)_**

 ** _Anyway, thanks for reading! The next few chapters will be a little longer, promise._**

 ** _XOXO,_**

 ** _OceansAria :)_**

* * *

Beth had been stashing what she could, when she could, since the moment the urge to go to D.C. had hit her. Now that she had been collecting for several weeks, her borrowed police duffle bag was overflowing canned goods and bottled water. She knew, however, that the amount wouldn't last her but so long out there in the wild.

Getting out of the city was the hard part of her plan. Not only did she have to avoid the undead, but the very much alive officers who claimed her as their property. She had taken note of their morning patrol routes and, just to be safe, let the air out of the tires on the squad car before she left.

New Beth had yet to face an actual walker. So when the first one came stumbling around a street corner, snarling and moaning and reaching its hideous claws for her, Beth's first reaction was to charge it.

She learned quickly that sometimes charging an undead thing that wants to eat your flesh isn't the best idea.

Shooting said undead thing isn't a good idea either—that just draws more of them.

Beth learned a lot that first day, about the world and about herself. She learned that she was skilled with weapons and could make one out of just about anything. (One walker she took care of by slamming it's decaying skull in a car door.) She found out she could also hotwire a car, drive, and siphon gasoline from other abandoned vehicles.

Once she was far away from the city, she drove the car she'd taken into the woods and slept in the backseat. She wasn't hungry enough yet to dig into her stash from the hospital, but she did sip water to quiet the few grumblings her stomach gave. Halfway through the night she heard engines and tires squealing on the highway. The officers were searching for her.

As soon as morning light shone through the car's windows, she got up and took her bag and ran into the woods.

No way in hell was she going back to that damn hospital.

* * *

She learned that she liked to sing.

To pass the long silent hours as she followed the map she'd stolen from Shepard's office, Beth hummed random notes and sung nonsense words. She even tried to mimic the birds in the trees. She felt like she should know real songs with real words, but she couldn't dig any up from beneath the ashes in her mind.

She learned that she wasn't so good with directions.

More than once she went west instead of east, took a wrong turn at an intersection, or strayed through a part of the woods that she shouldn't have. More than once she gave up and sat down and screamed at the sky for help.

She learned that she was impatient.

Water took too long to boil so she could drink it. What fruit she could find was overripe and mostly smushed on the ground. Rabbits scampered off the minute she got too close.

She learned that she was stubborn.

Even if food and drink were hard to come by, and every night was colder than the last, she dismissed every little creeping voice that urged her to turn back and go home.

She learned that she didn't remember having a home.

* * *

 _Day 17._

Beth had found a permanent marker at the last house she'd squatted in. Before that, she'd only been able to keep count of the days passing by in her head—which she knew wasn't the most reliable source. Now, each day when her eyes opened and she rose to carry on, she made sure to pause a moment, get out the marker, and change the number on the back of her hand.

 _Day 18._

She didn't want to wake up that morning. She didn't even want to _be alive_.

Since Beth had gone off on her own, she'd only had one episode. It had been quick, just enough to take her breath and leave her reeling and inept in the middle of the highway.

That morning, however, while she was hunting for breakfast, the episode yet hit her like a tidal wave. She'd dropped her gun in the process, lost the bloodtrail on a rabbit she had shot, and knocked her head on a low tree branch.

If only she'd paid attention to the signs.

* * *

When she became conscious again later in the afternoon, Beth instantly reached to cushion her aching head and the deja vu hit her harder than the episode.

 _Blood on the ground. Blood on my hands. Blood pouring down my face._

She remembered walkers trying to grab onto her clothes, trying to take a chunk out of her flesh. She remembered screaming a stranger's name that felt more familiar than her own.

When her fingers came away splattered with red, Beth felt her pulse roar. Her breathing escalated and her throat felt all scratchy. Both her old and new head wounds throbbed to a crescendo. She tried and failed to get to her feet. What if a walker smelled her blood again? What if a walker came for her? What if she couldn't get away and one ate her whole?

Beth learned she wasn't afraid of death, but she was afraid of walkers.

* * *

 _Day 27._

She hadn't eaten in forty-seven hours. With the snow falling and the temperatures well below freezing, all of her normal prey had gone into hibernation. Wild fruit had disappeared from branch bushes weeks ago, and she hadn't come across a house to scavenge through in over nine miles.

While squatting in a rotting gas station, another episode happened. She was boiling water over a meager fire, hoping to at least make a weak root tea to settle her empty gut, when her vision promptly went dark and she toppled over without warning.

Usually they came with notice. Her arm would tremble, her vision would falter and go all spotty, but this time it just . . . _happened._

This episode was also the first to bring her another memory.

At least, that's what Beth assumed it was. There was no other explanation for what she saw in the time she was unconscious.

 _A tiny fire, as to not draw unwanted visitors. A man. No,_ the _man. That man with dark shaggy hair, naked arms, and a leather vest. That man with a scowl that didn't quite fit on his gentle face. He stared at her across the flames, sharp blue eyes wide open and questioning._

 _Eyes that were angry as hell._

* * *

 _Day 28._

Beth didn't come to completely till the smell of smoke startled her awake.

Her own fire had gone out sometime in the night, whilst she was dreaming about another fire, another time, another _self_.

"Who are you?"

Her whisper echoed through the vacant room, reminding her that she was alone. She ignored her spoiled tea and pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her aching head on her thighs. By closing her eyes, she could see that man clear as crystal once more. _Dark hair hanging in his blue, blue, blue eyes. Bristle on his chin and upper lip. Strong, bare arms. Leather vest._

Why did she see him? Why was he the only person from _before_ that had come back to her?

Why him?

"Who _are_ you?" she voiced the same question aloud again. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter and tighter, fighting frustrated tears, fighting off the constant replay of this newfound piece of her past.

Piercing, animalistic, hardened blue eyes that knew her even if she didn't know him.

"Why are you so important to me?"

Her whispers quickly turned to screams.

* * *

 _Day 37._

For six days, Beth had it good. She found a house with a cellar stocked top to bottom with preserves and wine. She hunted down a lone buck and ate her fill of roasted venison. She even got a little tipsy one night and stumbled around, enjoying the absolute bliss of being numb for a while.

She didn't think taking a break from traveling would affect her journey immensely. From what her map and the road signs said, she had already passed through North Carolina and was just past the state line of Virginia.

And if the car out back in the shed ran, she'd been in D.C. in a couple of hours.

* * *

 _Day 38._

That tan and white 89' Bronco got her all the way to Richmond before the gas tank gurgled empty and the wheels wouldn't budge another inch.

"Walking it is," Beth sighed, grabbing her backpack and slinging her shotgun over her shoulder as she slid out of the driver's seat and back into the outdoors.

She walked the edge of the highway until night fell and traveling was no longer safe.

Little did Beth know, as she laid down her head to rest briefly that night, that within hours she'd be bombarded by a herd and would have to run for her life. Little did she know that this herd would push her in the right direction, that in just several days, she'd be safe. Sound. A roof over her head and a bed to sleep in and a belly that no longer moaned constantly.

 _Little did she know._

* * *

 _Day 39 and 40._

Running. Hard, long, and far. Running, stabbing, shooting, blood and blackened brains splattered across her skin and tattered clothes. Running to get to her destination, running to get to that man with the insanely blue eyes and leather vest and dark, long hair.

She couldn't run forever. No, no one could, not even her. Not even the girl who looked death in the face and flipped him the bird. She soon collapsed in a pile of dead leaves and slept. Reenergized, she rose once more the next day, body heavy and fighting like hell for more sleep, but she couldn't risk that. She had to get to D.C., she had to find _him._

She had to at least try.

 _Little did she know_ that _s_ he didn't have to go much further than through the underbrush to the road's edge.

There, exiting the woods on the other side, were two men.

The first man wore a clean flannel shirt and jeans, his hair combed nicely, binoculars hanging from his neck and shotgun over his shoulder much like her own. The second man wore jeans torn at the knees, an equally ragged shirt, and a leather vest. Unlike the first, he had more than his share of weapons. Two knives on his belt, a crossbow across his back, and a pistol on his leg.

This man, with the dirty clothing and messy hair, was the man from her memories.


	4. Dorothy finds her Tin-Man

_**Hi, all. This chappie is still somewhat short and more from Daryl's POV. Sometimes it will alternate between Beth and Daryl.**_

 _ **Thanks so much for reading! The next couple chapters are slowly coming together and I hope to publish them quickly.**_

 ** _XOXO,_**

 ** _OceansAria :)_**

* * *

"Let's split up," Daryl suggested, glancing left and right down the road for any impending threat. He'd already taken down six walkers that day so far. As autumn wore on, they became less mobile due to the colder weather, but that didn't mean it was clear. "Cover more ground. See what we see."

Aaron nodded, easygoing as ever. Daryl had grown used to his friend's overly polite manners, and knew that more than most the time Aaron was just fine with Daryl being the man with the plan.

"You go east, I'll go west?"

"Sounds good. Meet back here in an hour."

Aaron started off in his designated direction. "Shout if you need me."

Daryl almost snorted. He wasn't being cocky; both of them knew he could handle himself. He went his own way, removing his crossbow from his back to carry it. He always felt better when the weapon was in his hands.

Today their mission was to find survivors and to scavenge whatever supplies they could.

 _Rope, clothes, canned food, ammo . . ._ his mental list went on and on. No matter how stocked they were back in Alexandria, they couldn't risk running out.

Daryl's mission was very far from his mind as he crossed the road, started into the underbrush, and paused.

Something had _squeaked_ when he kicked aside the brush. No, not something. _Someone._

Taking a couple steps back, Daryl bent at the knees and stuck a hand into the brush, ever so carefully pushing it aside.

That's when he saw her.

He saw her and he stopped, he went _so still_ it was like even his blood was no longer flowing and when he drew his next breath it was the first proper breath he'd had since the two of them were sitting in the kitchen at the funeral home and the only word she could say was _"Oh."_ Since she was safe and whole and _with him._

"B-Beth?" Daryl's eyes widened to the point of bulging behind the curtain of his hair. His grip on the crossbow, on reality, faltered and his knees threatened to buckle. Frozen in place—like the Tin Man in the forest, waiting for Dorothy to save him. "That really you?"

"How do you know my name?" Beth asked lowly, cautiously. Her heart thundered erratically at the sight of the only person she might know in this savage world. But she was too unsure of herself to give into the supernatural pull towards trusting this man.

Stepping forward, she drew her knife, as if for comfort more than for protection, and repeated herself louder, " _How do you know my name?_ "

Daryl stammered, his mouth hanging open, "I know you. 'S how I know." He mentally kicked himself. What a stupid answer! Who in their right mind would believe that?

" _How_ do you know me?" When he struggled to answer, she cried, "Why are you the only person I remember from _before_?"

He froze again. _She remembered him?_

Aaron's reappearance was the only thing to break the spell hovering the air between the two individuals, both too enticed and mesmerized by the other's presence to speak.

"Oh!" Aaron smiled at Beth uncertainly, obviously taking note of her knife. She watched as his hand glided to his side where a revolver hung from his belt. "Um, hi. We won't hurt you, ma'am. I'm Aaron and this is—"

"Daryl," she cut in. His name, the only name she could remember—not even her own name felt right on her tongue but his _did_ —pounded against her skull over and over, hammer on nail, a rockslide beginning in her brain. "Daryl, how do you know me?" her voice wavering, frail, Beth staggered forward. The black spots in her left eye turned multicolored, clouding her vision.

Daryl reached forward subconsciously and grabbed her elbow, steadying her.

"Whoa there," Aaron helped Daryl support Beth on her other side. "I think we need to take her back to the community. You said you know her?"

Beth wasn't going to be kicked out of the conversation. She grabbed onto Daryl's vest, gasping through the pain her episode was bringing on, "How. Do. I. _Know_. You?"

He didn't get a chance to answer before she passed out, slumping against his chest, where his heart was racing wild and loud. Where every breath had been knocked clear out of the ballpark and his thoughts were all tangled except for one:

 _Is this real?_

Looking at Aaron, who was still waiting patiently for an answer, Daryl said, "Yeah. She's supposed to be dead."

* * *

 _She remembered him._

Every step he took, each wheezing breath in his smoker lungs (he still couldn't get a full breath), every beat of his battered heart pounded at the cadence of those three words.

 _She remembered him._

The minute they were past the gate, Daryl tossed a spare shirt over her head, threw her over his shoulder, and took Beth to one of the many empty houses in Alexandria. He couldn't chance Maggie seeing her. He couldn't chance that Maggie would see her as someone else, that this was all just another hellish dream, that the girl he carried was a stranger.

He posted Aaron as guard at the door and left to find Rick. He had to tell someone who knew Beth; he had to make him see that he wasn't crazy.

Rick was patrolling the streets as he usually was, but he'd stopped to speak to one of the elderly inhabitants. That conversation came to a screeching halt when he saw Daryl running at him full on.

"Something happen?" he called out.

Daryl waved him closer. "Found someone out scoutin'. Need you to come see."

Rick followed without protest. Saying goodbye to the Alexandrian, he fell into stride beside Daryl, who refused to give up any piece of info just yet. Really, Daryl wanted to see the look on the man's face when he saw their newfound guest.

Aaron jumped up from his chair when the two men came striding in purposefully. "She hasn't woken up. I zip-tied her hands and feet together—just in case."

Immediately pissed, Daryl growled, "Ain't no need. She won't hurt nobody." He didn't give Aaron a chance to apologize before shoving into the room where Beth was laying on the bed, unconscious still. He immediately began to undo the binds on her hands and feet, gentle and methodical in his motions.

Rick froze behind him. Stumbled back. Drew a shaky breath.

"Is that . . . ?"

Daryl straightened to face his friend, then followed Rick's eyes to look down at Beth for a long moment. She was ever so thin now. Her cheekbones jutted out and her skin was a grayish shade of cream, making the fresh baby pink scars even more apparent.

"But _how?_ She - " Rick stammered. "She was _shot_ , Daryl."

 _Don't ya think I know that?!_ Daryl wanted to holler in Rick's face. All he ever thought about these days was trying to forget about Beth being shot. All he ever tried to forget about was carrying her limp, bloodied body out to her sister and crying like a big ole' baby. All he ever _wanted_ to forget was _her_. Her singing voice, her insanely blue eyes, her joyous laugh. _Don't ya think I know what happened t' my girl?_

"No idea. She just . . . popped up. Outta nowhere. Scared the shit outta me too. Drew her knife, started screamin'."

"Did you knock her out?"

"Naw. She passed out."

Rick dipped his head into his chest, taking it all in slowly. Daryl still hadn't moved from Beth's side. He was silently wishing that she would choose that moment to open her big baby blues and explain everything. But she didn't, and so the questions raging in both men's minds steamed on, full ahead.

"We can't tell Maggie," Daryl said. He looked at Rick. "Not yet."

Rick gave another nod. "Yeah. But we can't keep this from her for too long. She'd raise hell."

Daryl snorted softly. He was resisting the urge to reach out and push back the blond wisps of hair from Beth's face. "She, uh . . . she said she remembered me."

"Well, I would sure hope so."

"Mm hmm," Daryl sighed. "'Cept she said she remembered _just_ me."

His friend's eyebrows knitted and with a shuffle of his boots, Rick was on the other side of Beth in seconds. He reached out to her arm, hesitant, but stopped before his fingertips could touch her shoulder. Daryl knew Rick viewed Beth as one of his many responsibilities, as a daughter in a way. He knew that Rick had been messed up about losing Beth, too.

"What else did she say?"

"She . . . " Saying it aloud meant it was true and _dammit_ he didn't want it to be. " . . .she wanted t'know how I knew her."

"Rick," Aaron called from the doorway. The two men had failed to notice how he had been watching the entire scene play out. "Um, Michonne's outside. She said Carl's looking for you."

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. The problems would never end, and neither would the secrets.

"Daryl," he said in a lower voice, a near whisper. "You stay here, keep watch. When she wakes up, bring her to my house through the back door. I want to speak with her myself." He paused, caught the other man's piercing stare, and added, "If that's alright with you."

Daryl realized that Rick was addressing him as Beth's protector, as the owner to her safety. He wanted to protest, he wanted to assure Rick that Beth could _more_ than handle herself, but he settled with agreement.

"Yeah."

Rick placed his hands on his hips and turned to stride out, only to throw in as he was leaving, "You can't even tell Carol about this, okay?"

"Alright," Daryl grunted. "And you can't tell Michonne."

"Fine," Rick chuckled. "See you two at dinner, then."

Aaron hesitated on the threshold once the two of them were alone. Unlike Rick, he was much more straightforward, though his voice was gentle. "So is she your someone that you once belonged to?"

Daryl moved to sit on the end of the bed by her feet, took out her knife, and stroked the sheath. As he had done many times since he lost her, for solace and for those moments when he simply needed to be in another place and time. Once she awoke, he planned on giving it back to her. He no longer needed to carry it with him like a fossil, like a chain-and-ball that did nothing but drag him back into a place of memories that he had attempted to repress.

"Yeah," he answered, voice thick and low as to not wake her. "She is."


	5. Don't Run

_**Um, so...**_

 _ **I've had this chapter put together for a while and just decided to go on and post it. After this, it will sadly be at least a couple of days before the next one is posted. Maybe even a week..**_

 _ **Thanks again for reading, loves.**_

 _ **XOXO,**_

 _ **OceansAria :)**_

* * *

Sunlight cooked her face until she awoke in the strange room, dust motes drifting down around her. Once her eyes flew open, Beth took in her surroundings with calculation, trying to find the weak spot or possible use. Another small skill she had picked up on the road.

There was the twin-sized bed she was lying on—white sheets, single pillow, no quilt or comforter. Then a dresser. She hopped up to check it, keeping her footsteps silent, only to find every drawer full of musty clothing long-since touched. Rushing to the window, she pried at the hinges to no avail. It was early evening beyond her temporary prison cell, the light dying in a slow burn above the rows and rows of pristine houses. Beth watched as families strolled the sidewalks like the world hadn't ended around them.

She turned from the window to continue her inventory. Her knife had disappeared from her belt. _Taken by those men,_ she thought with a rush of enmity. Fire raged in her gut as she reached for the neck of her shirt; surely, they'd checked her for other weapons but they probably hadn't found the pocketknife in her bra.

"Yes," she breathed in triumph, flipping open the blade. Even if she knew this man, this Daryl, she wouldn't take any chances with the other man, Aaron. Or the simple-minded people who populated this community.

Just then, the door to her room shook free and the man, Daryl, stepped inside. He glanced towards the bed then flicked his eyes over to where she stood at the window, pocketknife fisted, blue eyes ablaze and mouth twisted into a scowl.

"Nice to see you up and about," he said casually, as if he were not staring at her blade.

Beth sidestepped the formalities. "Why'd you lock me up in here?"

Daryl shrugged. "The door won't locked. You could've gotten up and left if ya wanted."

A blush warmed her cheeks. How stupid had she been to not even attempt the door? She could've been long gone by now!

"Oh," she breathed, a bit of the tension in her body lessening. The urge to trust him only grew, only pressed at her thoughts more. She shoved the disturbing thoughts aside. "Why'd you bring me here? What is this place?"

"Alexandria," Daryl answered. He leaned against the dressed and scratched at the bristle on his chin, eyes intense upon her in a way that made her squirm. "It's a community. We bring people in, help 'em, give 'em shelter. My family's here."

The way he said _family_ made Beth believe there was a deeper meaning, a hidden punch, to the word. Like he was hinting at something she ought to know; however, that's what everything _anyone_ said sounded like these days.

"How many people are here?"

Another shrug. "Dunno. At least seventy-five now."

Seventy-five survivors. The hospital had had under fifty and that had been a pretty impressive number. Keeping her emotions contained, Beth flipped the blade closed and slipped the pocketknife into her bra again. Daryl watched her every move with curiosity and a small smirk.

"How big is your family?" Beth asked.

He counted silently on his fingers. "Little over a dozen of us. Used to be more."

Beth knew what that meant. The inevitable—the loss of loved ones in rapid succession was something that happened more and more frequently in this new world. She, as far as she could recall, hadn't lost anyone close to her.

Then again, she hadn't _had_ anyone close to her.

Beth found herself asking the question before she could stop. "How many more?"

There was that intense stare again. Even more fierce, even more searching than before.

"A lot more."

* * *

The longer she spoke with the man, Daryl, the more it became like an interrogation on his end—an interrogation that led to dead ends. He confirmed that he knew her from before her accident, but he didn't tell her all the dire details in between.

 _For how long? Where did they live? Why was she separated from him?_

He said he couldn't tell her.

Not yet.

Soon, but not soon enough, Beth was allowed out of the room and into the house. It obviously wasn't in use, for dust coated everything thickly, and puffed up in clouds as the two walked towards the front door.

Beth followed Daryl down the porch steps and out onto the sidewalk, where the crowds had dwindled to a few stragglers at this point. It was completely dark out now, except for the streetlights, which were a piece of the old world she'd never thought she'd see working again.

"You hungry?"

Pulling her head out of the clouds, Beth replied, "Yeah."

"Get ya somethin' to eat then ya can talk to Rick," Daryl said, leading her across the road towards an even bigger house than the one she'd been kept in, with more fluorescent light pouring from the windows. "Once he's talked to ya, we'll figure out where you can sleep."

Beth stopped walking. _Where she could sleep_?

"You're makin' me stay?"

Daryl turned, the expression on his face one of impasse. His shoulders were rigid beneath his shirt and vest, and the hand she could see was twitching slightly.

"Do ya wanna stay?"

That same thing, that little slithering voice that whispered in her ear to trust this man, screamed that she _should_ _stay_.

But Beth knew that staying meant accepting what little she knew about her past—that Daryl had once been important to her, had at least been _something_ to her (even if he hadn't clarified so) and that all the theories running through her mind about his family could be true.

That Daryl and his family could be _her family._ Her friends. Her loved ones from _before_.

"For tonight, yeah," she finally said. Her frail body couldn't take another day without food or a proper night's rest. "But I don't know how long I can stay after that. I'm kind of . . . on a road trip." Getting to DC was the furthest thing from her thoughts now, but it was the only excuse she could use on the spot.

Daryl's eyes held onto her for a moment before flickering away, and he nodded slowly. So many unspoken emotions rolled from his shoulders as he turned his back and started for their destination again; the house where her old family might be lying in wait.

"Let's get ya somethin' to eat," was his only response. "Yer too skinny."

* * *

Upon entering the room, Beth surveyed the area just as she had done with the bedroom. Then her eyes landed on Rick, lounging on a sofa, and she could sense, just by looking at him, that he was a natural born leader.

And that he would do anything to protect his flock.

She hadn't been allowed to go into the room where voices carried on in laughter and jovial conversation. Instead, she'd been snuck into the kitchen, where Daryl gave her a plate and a fork and told her to grab from what she wanted on the kitchen table. She'd watched as he helped himself, sticking a roll in his mouth and spooning green beans on his own plate. As if all of this was natural. As if being beside _her_ was natural.

Now, as she sat in the elegant living room with her untouched plate in her lap and her eyes focused on Rick's piercing blue gaze, she attempted to speak around the lump of bile in her throat.

Rick beat her to it.

"What's your name?"

Beth wanted to sigh in frustration. Why was that always the question?

"It's Beth," she said. "Or so I'm told."

He raised an eyebrow, munching on a piece of turkey meat. "I'm Rick."

"I heard," she snarked quietly.

Rick smiled a little. "Daryl told me about you findin' them in the woods. He said you just . . . appeared."

Beth held his stare, trying to think of a quick fib that wouldn't land her back in that bedroom in the other house with the door locked this time.

No matter how hard she tried, the truth spilled from her mouth:

"I'd been watchin' them for several days."

 _Dammit!_ she cursed inwardly. She could easily tell that Rick wasn't one to take kindly to his people being threatened.

However, Rick didn't even flinch, nor did the smile fade from his lips.

"Why?"

Beth knew that even if he hadn't stopped smiling, there was that quiet apprehensiveness underneath his calm, gentle tone. She was treading through a minefield and with a single misstep . . . _BOOM!_ Hasta la vista. Back to the woods and fighting walkers 24/7.

Which maybe wasn't such a bad thing. Out there her brain didn't rebel so much and her thoughts weren't so fuzzy. Everything was sharp and clear, all her tasks laid out before her, and she never had to appease to anyone but herself.

"Because I thought I knew Daryl but I wasn't sure." Her voice, no matter how confident she forced it to be, didn't do anything to mask the quiver in bad arm very well, one that usually began when she was nearing an episode. She knew that Rick had picked up on that quiver too. "He . . . I'd only remembered a little of my life before my . . . _accident_ , and what I did remember was about him."

Rick wiped his mouth with his napkin. "What was that, exactly?"

Beth shut down. Just like that—a snap of fingers, the blink of an eye. Her memories were her own, and ever since she'd woken up, since Day One of New Beth, she hadn't felt the need to share what went on inside her head.

"That's my business," she said. It came out more animalistic than she meant, and she wished immediately she could've softened the blow.

Rick raised a single eyebrow. She could see the gears in his brain working to make a decision on her, like picking petals off a daisy. _He trusts her. He trusts her not._

"Daryl will find you an empty bed for tonight," Rick declared at last. "Then, tomorrow, if you don't wanna stay . . . then you don't have to."

With the slamming of the proverbial gavel, Beth was sent out of the room.

* * *

"This is the only empty bed in the house."

Beth followed the line of Daryl's finger into the small bedroom with about as many furnishings as the previous one she'd been in. A simple bed with a faded green comforter took up the majority of the space, as well as a dresser with an array of turkey feathers and feet displayed on top. Above the dresser hung were several snakeskins, hung by punch pins. The blinds were tightly closed. A spare pair of boots, the soles all but worn out, held the door open.

"Is this . . ." Beth felt that stepping into the room would be like stepping on sacred ground. "Your room?"

Daryl ducked his head, his ever expressive eyes out of her sight.

"Won't gonna make you sleep on the couch."

She couldn't stop the tiny smile from curling her mouth, nor could she suddenly stop herself from reaching for him. Touching his arm gingerly, she said, "I can't take your room."

He raised his head just enough to make his eyes meet hers. Just as every time he'd looked at her since the first time earlier that day, his gaze was warm and filled with something she wanted to decipher. Something from _before._ Something from the _not yet._

He didn't refuse, but simply replied, "If ya need anything else, I'll be downstairs."

With that, Daryl slipped from under her touch and left her in the doorway of his room, with her only option to take his offer. Obviously he was hellbent on taking the couch, and since she didn't want to have to go through the awkward situation of trying to persuade Daryl—a near perfect stranger—to take back his room, Beth sighed, entered, and kicked the door shut behind her with a _whoosh!_

Had it really only been eight hours since she was alone, struggling to remain alive in the woods? Had she really found the man of her memories? Was this happening or was it another one of her dumb daydreams?

 _Was she really even there?_

Sitting on the bed, Beth twisted the worn comforter in her hands. She bit her tongue till it bled. She listened for her heartbeat, for her only reassurance she was still alive, that this was all _real_ , and found it pounding out its usual hummingbird wing rhythm.

She curled up on her side on the comforter, taking in the soft scent of pine, motor grease, and earth. Daryl's scent.

This was real.

This was the first step towards figuring out who she'd been, and who she was gonna be.

* * *

Waking the second time in Alexandria wasn't as nearly frightening as the first. This time, she wasn't a prisoner.

 _Or was she?_

Beth hadn't bothered to remove any of her clothing to sleep; she rose from the bed and opened the door to poke her head into the hallway. It was too bright outside to be early morning, which meant she'd slept much longer than she'd liked to. Shooting an accusing glare at the very comfy bed, she decided to take her chances and go downstairs where chatter resonated in the rooms below.

Conversations halted as Beth's boots clomped down the stairs. She froze for a moment—should she go back up to Daryl's room and hide until someone came to get her? No, hiding would give off the impression of weakness—then continued climbing down.

Rick's was the first face she saw. He was holding a cracked ceramic mug to his lips, which gave her another weary smile as she entered the room. The next person she laid eyes on was Daryl, who straightened up from reclining against the counter, picking at the contents of a bowl in his hands. He greeted Beth with a curt nod and a grunted, "Mornin'."

Then there was a woman.

It was her laugh Beth had heard, her warm timbre that had vibrated through the veins of the house. This woman was fairly tall, nearly taller than Daryl and Rick, with muscular cacao skin and long, beautiful dreads. Her eyes, full of mirth, were flushed with something Beth recognized as sadness when the woman turned eyes on their new guest.

"Good mornin'," Rick greeted Beth. "Sleep well?"

Nodding, Beth retrieved her breath and said, "Yeah. Better than I have in a while."

"Good," Rick kept on smiling at her as he gestured to the woman standing at his side. "Beth, I'd like for you to meet someone. This is Michonne."

Beth cautiously shook the woman's outstretched hand. Dark eyes searched her own, just as Daryl's and Rick's had upon meeting, and she knew what was coming. Beth had come to expect _that look._

"I'm supposed to know who you are," she ventured.

Michonne smiled gently, almost in a motherly way, and released Beth's hand. "It's okay if you don't. I won't force you try to remember."

Relief whooshed through Beth, and she let loose a breath she hadn't known she was holding onto. With a small nod, she said, "Thank you. Really."

"Let's get you some breakfast, huh?" Rick clapped Daryl on the shoulder as he walked past and dropped off his mug in the giant stainless steel sink. "I know you didn't eat much of anythin' last night. Gotta be starvin'."

Her stomach grumbled in response, but her mouth insisted, "No. I'm fine."

But Daryl grabbed another bowl, scooped something from a pot on the stove, and shoved it into her hands before she could say no. "'S turkey stew. Old family recipe," he explained, eyes heavy and warm and full of that strange intense _feeling_ on her own two baby blues.

"Thanks," she muttered, taking the spoon Michonne offered. When was the last time she'd eaten anything except cold baked beans and expired cream of corn? Scooping stew into her mouth carefully, Beth savored the salty broth as it trickled down her throat. She nearly moaned aloud it tasted so good.

Michonne and Rick departed shortly after Beth settled at the table with her bowl of stew, calling to Daryl that they'd see him after work. Daryl did not much more than grunt back before taking a seat on a stool at the island, across the way from her.

"Work?" she asked around a mouthful. "Y'all have jobs here?"

"Yeah. Rick's the sheriff, Michonne's his deputy."

Beth couldn't help but giggle picturing Rick in an old-time cowboy hat and spurs, hollering, _Put your hands in the air_! or _There's a snake in my boot!_ He did kind of resemble Woody from _Toy Story_ now that she thought about it.

"And what do you do?"

Daryl mumbled, "Nothin' much. Help out when I can. Go on scoutin' missions some." He pointed at her. "It's how I found ya."

"Um, the way I recall it _I_ found _you_ ," Beth clarified subconsciously.

As if a shock had run up and down is body, Daryl went still as a statue. Beth watched curiously as he unfroze, hopped off the stool, and sauntered to the sink, where he rinsed out his bowl and left it on the drying rack. She was still trying to figure out what had made him shut up so quickly when he turned about to face her again.

Mentally playing back what she said as Daryl's eyes seemed to struggle to stay locked on her face, she realized that whatever she was to this man in their past was haunting him now.

No wonder he looked at her like that.

In his eyes, Beth was a ghost.

Daryl asked, "You ready? Deanna's probably waitin'."

Beth cautiously rose, carrying her now-empty bowl in her good hand. She had to move past him to get to the sink, and since he refused to budge even a centimeter, her hand brushed his bare arm as she rinsed and stored her bowl next to his. If she hadn't known better, she would've claimed heat fueled the air between their bodies.

But she did know better.

Beth wiped her sweater's sleeve across her mouth, making sure she didn't have any broth residue on her lips. Now _she_ couldn't meet _his_ eyes.

"Who's Deanna?"

"She leads this place." Daryl pushed himself off the counter—seemingly putting distance between he and Beth—and grabbed for a sheathed knife she hadn't noticed before on the end of the island. It was small, as if crafted for a child, and she knew instantly that it did not belong to him. He held the knife like it was the Mona Lisa or the crown jewels, like it was rare and priceless.

"I thought Rick was the leader."

Daryl snorted. "He's _our_ leader, but not everybody's."

"Oh." Beth's eyes were still glued to the knife. "Who's is that?"

For some reason, she felt like that question should've made him freeze as he had not five minutes before—what with the way he touched the knife like it was the most precious item he'd ever owned.

Although she assumed this, Daryl didn't freeze. He didn't say a single damn word. Instead of giving her an explanation or refusing to look at her, he stuck out his hand with the knife curled in it and said, "Ya want it?"

Beth's eyebrows practically married her hairline and her lips twisted into a confused, tiny smile.

"Why would I want it? I've got one," she replied, pulling up her shirttail to show him the hunting knife that had been returned to her after her little talk with Rick last night. "But, thanks, I guess."

Daryl's hand dropped back; she watched, mesmerized somewhat still, as he lifted his own shirt and strapped the tiny knife beside his own much larger blade.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Just thought maybe you'd need it. C'mon, Deanna hates it when yer late."

 _No choice but to follow him,_ Beth thought as Daryl hightailed it out the back door and in the direction of Deanna's home.

Later, she'd realize that she _had_ had a choice. She could've gone in the opposite direction, scaled the walls, got back on the road and tried to make it on her own. She could've forgotten they existed—she already had once, so it couldn't be that hard to do it again, right?

It had only been eighteen hours since she met this man and her 'family' and already that option sounded a lot less appealing.

With a sigh and a quick weapon check, Beth traipsed down the back porch steps and followed the dark-haired man with angel wings inscribed on his leather vest.


	6. Debrief

**_Not super in love with this chappie..._**

 ** _Anyway, thanks for reading!_**

 ** _XOXO,_**

 ** _OceansAria :)_**

* * *

Daryl didn't bother to knock on Deanna's front door. Once Beth was beside him, he twisted the knob and strolled right in. Voices drifted down the hall from the humongous kitchen in the back, and as the two walked in sync in that direction, the voices only grew in volume and honesty.

Daryl stopped Beth before she could walk into the kitchen, pointing a finger at her in the universal gesture of _stay put._

"Be right back," he said. "Gonna see if she's almost done meetin' with someone else."

Suspicion stirred in her chest—someone else? Possibly one of the members of her 'family' that she wasn't allowed to meet yet?—but she did as he said and stayed obediently while he went on into the kitchen.

However, staying put didn't mean staying _still._ Leaning forward, Beth kept her feet anchored but her ears alert and her breathing soft, listening intently for any snatches of conversation that might be related to her or her 'family'. For anything that could even slightly reveal what her life had been like _before._

A young woman's strong voice floated over to Beth's ears, and she leaned further to catch the tail end of what this stranger was saying.

"We have to be more vigilant, and to do that, we need more people on watch. Sasha can't take but so many shifts. She shouldn't have to, and she and Spencer can't be the only ones taking turns. We need four people altogether—one at each point—at all times. We're going to have to make a schedule and ask for volunteers, the way I see it."

"Thank you, Maggie," another woman answered the first. Beth could tell this was an older woman; her age showed through the few tremors her speech gave. "I'll definitely take that into consideration and will speak with both Spencer and Sasha on their ideas about it."

The two women exchanged _see you laters,_ doors opened and closed, and then Daryl popped his head around the door frame and motioned for Beth to follow.

"C'mon. She's ready for ya."

Deanna smiled politely, but not with much enthusiasm, as Beth entered the room behind Daryl. Beth immediately felt the need to make herself bigger, so she held her head higher, shoved her shoulders back, and cooled her expression to a neutral, passive slate.

"Hello," Deanna came around the counter to meet Beth in the middle, hand outstretched and ready to shake. "I'm Deanna, though I'm sure they already told you that."

Beth glanced at Deanna's hand. Unlike when she met Michonne earlier, she didn't feel that little itch at the back of her mind that she had known this woman previously.

She also didn't feel the need to shake this lady's hand.

Daryl snorted. It was soft and amused, and Beth had to stop herself from smiling when she caught his eye. _So I amuse you, huh?_ she thought. _I'm glad someone thinks I'm amusing._

"Nevermind then." Deanna cleared her throat. She kept that same benign smile formed on her thin lips as she invited the pair into her pristine yet book-packed living room. "I wanted Rick to be here for this. Is he coming?"

"He's busy," Daryl muttered from his spot leaning against the fireplace. Despite the moment they'd just shared, he had made sure to create distance between he and Beth.

Deanna sighed. "Fine. Please tell him I would like to speak with him later. Beth, if you would sit down. I'm going to ask you a series of questions. Some about you, some about your skills to see where you'll fit in around here."

Though she followed Deanna's instructions to settle, she wasn't so sure she wanted to accord to the rest.

"But I'm not even sure if I'm goin' to stay."

Deanna scratched her chin. Appraising Beth, watching, calculating. "Well, if you don't mind, I would still like to ask you some questions."

Beth fidgeted and glanced to Daryl. His eyes said _yeah, go ahead_ though his voice didn't.

"Yeah. I guess."

Deanna started the camera, sat, crossed her legs, and began.

"Look into the camera and tell me your name and age."

Beth gulped. Straightened her shoulders a second time and tried to force a smile.

"My name is Beth. I'm . . ."

Deanna frowned, raised an eyebrow. "How old are you, Beth?"

The softest whisper came across the room: "Eighteen."

Instead of thanking him, Beth only felt annoyed that she didn't know her own age. Just by glancing in the mirror she assumed she was a teenager, but she wasn't sure whether she was sixteen or nineteen.

"I'm eighteen," Beth awkwardly finished.

"Alright," Deanna said. "Now, tell me a little about yourself. How did you find this place? What was your journey like?"

"Um . . ." What the hell did she know about herself? "I'm a good shot, even though I used to be right-handed and had to learn how to shoot with my left. I'm pretty handy with knives. I, uh, I know how to purify water and build fires . . ."

Was that sadness in Daryl's eyes when he glanced at her? Why did he get up and go to the window? For some reason she hated the thought of hurting him, and wished to get up and go to the window with him.

She couldn't move a muscle before Deanna spoke again.

"Anything else?"

Another gulp. She felt like her knee wouldn't stop jittering and her bad arm was twitching something fierce on the sofa by her denim-clad thigh. There was only one other thing she knew about herself.

"I survived a headshot," Beth whispered. Deanna motioned for her to speak up. "I survived gettin' shot in the head," she repeated louder. "And after a long recovery, I escaped the hospital. I came to Virginia because the only memory I had at the time was that of a . . ."

Beth stopped midsentence. She could feel Daryl's eyes on her again - eager and attentive, ready to absorb whatever came spilling from her mouth next.

"Memory of a what?"

She turned and she looked at him dead-on. She wanted him to hear every word as clear as day, see every emotion that passed over her face.

"Of a man, and a spoon with Washington D.C. engraved on it. I thought it had to be a clue. I walked most of the way here until I found a car. But the car I found broke down and I got pushed this way by a herd, and then I found Aaron and Daryl in the woods and I decided to follow them for a day or two . . ."

"And then you came out of hiding? That's how you got here?"

Beth nodded. "Yes."

"So you know Mr. Dixon?"

Saying no would be a lie, but so would saying yes.

"I'm not sure."

Deanna frowned again. "You're not _sure_?"

Beth felt her nerves and the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

"Um, ma'am, I don't know if you've ever been the victim of gettin' shot _in the head_ but when that happens, you usually have quite a bit of brain damage. The worst I've gotten so far is memory loss, lost the use of my right arm, and have gone through a couple of trauma-induced seizures." Realizing she sounded like Dr. Edwards (which she definitely did _not_ like), Beth softened her tone. "Daryl told me that he knows me, and that Rick and his family are supposedly _my_ family. If that's true . . . I might want to stay."

Deanna smiled then. "You're surely welcome to, Beth." She stood and turned off the video camera. "For now, I'm going to send you along with Mr. Dixon while I think over your job placement."

Beth thanked Deanna quietly as she rose to leave. Daryl held open the door for her again, and as she walked past him, she heard him addressing the older woman.

"She's good with youngins."

"Good to know," Deanna replied with yet another placid smile.

The massive front door shut behind them. Once they were on the street, she couldn't help but turn and ask:

"Am I really?"

He seemed to be holding back a smile; she wanted to know why she made him smile so easily.

"Yeah, ya are," Daryl replied. "C'mon. Takin' ya to the Harrison's place. They'll look after ya while we're at work."

"Look _after_ me?" Beth huffed. "I don't need anyone to watch me. I can handle myself."

The smile that had been forming faded instantly and Daryl walked faster.

"Ya can't be left to wander 'round on your own. Someone else will come by later to finish the tour with ya."


	7. Empty Picture Frames

"The Harrison's watch Rick's baby while we're at work," Daryl called back to her over his shoulder as they crossed the street in unison. "Older kids go to school. Little ones in the mornin', big kids in the afternoon."

The brisk wind sliced directly through Beth's thin shirt and tattered jeans, but she hugged herself and bore it. "Rick has a baby?" she inquired through chattering teeth.

"Yeah." Daryl waited for her at the Harrison's front door this time. No barging in here. Beth sensed that Daryl had a different level of respect for this couple than he did for Deanna. "Name's Judith. You're about t'meet her."

He pushed open the door and held it back for her, allowing Beth to go first.

"Thanks," she mumbled, stepping into the parlor.

The scent of ammonia and lavender hit Beth the minute she was inside the Harrison's home. _Old people smell_ , she thought distantly, her eyes trailing over the empty picture frames lined up on a tiny mahogany side table. She couldn't stop her mind from wondering about who's faces used to occupy these frames, or who had once thrived in this house before strangers took over.

 _These houses are tombs._

"Daryl, is that you, dear?"

"Hey, Mrs. H," Daryl greeted the elderly woman as she descended the massive staircase that dropped off in the middle of the foyer.

"It's so good to see you," Mrs. Harrison smiled broadly. She hugged Daryl and turned, grinning still. "And this must be Beth!"

Mrs. Harrison swept the young girl into her arms before Beth had a moment to process what was happening. One moment she was staring at the stately chandelier hanging high over their heads, the next she was being pressed into a frail, cashmere-clothed shoulder that smelled like lilac powder and vanilla.

"Oh, um," Beth gently patted the old lady's back. "Hi. Nice to meet you."

Departing from the embrace, Mrs. Harrison touched either of Beth's cheeks with cool, wrinkled hands, wizened eyes evaluating her face. It took all of Beth's willpower to keep still.

"I like her. She's got a good heart, I can tell."

The air seemed to clear, to deflate, once the old lady announced those three simple words. Beth had felt as though she was under some type of test, and her racing heart slowly backpedaled to a normal pace once Mrs. Harrison let go and stepped back to speak with Daryl, simultaneously directing Beth to go ahead into the kitchen and help herself to a snack.

"A snack?" Beth mumbled. Venturing into the kitchen, she found a platter of saltines, sliced cheddar, and green grapes on the black and white marble countertop. "So snacks still exist."

She picked up a saltine and loaded a piece of cheddar. She got it halfway to her mouth—but she couldn't eat it. The stew she'd had for breakfast was still not sitting quite right in her gut and, upon thinking about it, she wasn't so sure that the richness of the cheese wouldn't launch all of that stew up and out.

Setting down the cracker, Beth searched for a glass to get water from the tap; that's when she heard the squeals of a baby, and after the cries continued, she went to investigate.

The baby girl lit up like a pre-apocalyptic Christmas tree when Beth stepped down into the living room. She started gurgling and cooing, and the alphabetic block she had clutched in her pudgy hand dropped immediately as she begged to be held.

Paralyzed. Beth was _paralyzed._ As far as she knew, she didn't even know how to hold a baby, nor had she seen one in this lifetime. The child's excited squeals quickly turned into anxious cries and Beth couldn't do anything other than gradually back away from the baby.

Mrs. Harrison swooped in at the perfect moment. She laughed and bent to pick Judith up, who instantly leaned over the woman's arms towards Beth, straining short arms to reach her. Beth glanced around for the only familiar face she knew, but found that Daryl had obviously, by then, left.

"Aw! Looks like she wants you to hold her, sweetheart."

Beth, hesitant and uneasy, took the baby from Mrs. Harrison—but only because Judith's incessant fussing was already driving her up the wall and she wanted it to stop. The minute Judith was in Beth's arms she relaxed; she stopped crying and nuzzled her face into Beth's neck, her plump fingers latching tightly onto a strand of Beth's hair that had fallen over her shoulder.

"Ouch," Beth mumbled, though she couldn't help but smile as the baby girl giggled. She gently pried Judith's hand from her hair. "Hey, be careful. That's attached."

"Y'know," Mrs. Harrison said. "They say babies remember their mama's scent."

Beth froze. "I'm not her mother." _Am I?_ she thought. Surely her body would've shown signs of having bore a child—stretchmarks, for instance—and so far she hadn't found any such thing. For a moment, she nearly panicked at the thought of having a baby she couldn't even remember. And if Judith was hers, and Rick was the father . . .

 _No, that can't be right. I would've remembered Rick instead of Daryl if we were intimate._

"I know. Rick told me you're apart of his family," Mrs. Harrison giggled light-heartedly, placating Beth's irrational fears. She draped a worn pink blanket over the baby's shoulders, though the room was warm due to a crackling fire in the hearth. "He said you used to take care of little Judy here."

"Oh." Beth stared down at the now-content baby girl, who was slowly but surely falling asleep on her chest. A new scrap of information, and apparently she _was_ good with children like Daryl said. "I-I don't remember that."

"Well, like I said," Mrs. Harrison went on with a _told-ya-so_ smile, gathering up the scattered toys and dumping them into a basket by a large leather armchair. "Babies remember their mamas."

* * *

It had barely been an hour when Daryl reappeared on the Harrison's front step to retrieve Alexandria's newest member. Throughout the hour Beth had sat on the elderly couple's couch with Judith on her lap, humming the few nonsense songs she knew and bouncing the baby on her knees.

Mrs. Harrison made Daryl wait until Beth had put Judith down for a nap before she graciously released the girl into his custody with a small paper sack full of saltines and dried strawberry slices. _Just in case you get hungry later, dear,_ she'd said in parting.

"Where are we goin' now?"

"Gotta finish the tour." He squinted up at her from where he was perched on the top step. "Ya only seen a little bit of the place."

"Don't you have to work?" Beth trotted down to the sidewalk and paused as Daryl hauled up to his feet.

"Volunteered for watch duty later. Had to go check on somethin', 's why I left ya here. Rick wanted me to show ya around."

The breeze picked up to a gust, and Beth wished for a coat thicker than the moth-eaten cardigan she'd been wearing as her outermost layer for weeks. "You're not goin' scoutin' today?"

"Naw. We don't go everyday. Takes too much fuel."

After winding up and down several streets, informing her about who lived where and who did what, Daryl took Beth to the front gate.

"How long has this place been here?"

"Since it all started."

"How long have y'all been here?"

"Coupla months."

The next question was a thousand times harder, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she _had_ to find out.

"How long after . . . after me?"

He looked at her, pain riddled in his gaze though his expression was cooly neutral. Forced into casualness, straining to not show even the slightest light of emotion. Beth watched his fingers twitch as his hand rested on the tiny knife hooked on his belt.

 _The knife he tried to give me._ Beth wasn't an idiot. Something about her life before was connected to that knife, to Daryl, and the knife was just a sliver of the never-ending puzzle.

"Not long."

So now she knew. _Now_ she knew that she had only been 'dead' for a matter of months which was a decade in this life. Just long enough for him to mourn, but not to move on, not completely. She wondered if they had only been friends . . . but the way Daryl had been staring at her since she woke up screamed that they had been something much more than comrades.

 _I'm sorry._ She wanted to whisper it, to screech it, even if she didn't fully feel the depth of that apology. _I'm sorry I was dead, okay? I'm sorry._

Spencer, the young man standing watch at the main gate and Deanna's son, wandered over to where the two stood, equally staring into the distance. He struck up a dull conversation about the next supply run with Daryl, and while the men were speaking, Beth kept her eyes trained on the treeline.

She didn't have to wait too long.

A walker, its insides on the outside and half of its face torn away, came stumbling onto the road. With all the quiet beyond the gates its low snarls could be heard from where Beth safely stood encompassed by cement and iron.

"Hey," Beth stomped on the conversation to address Spencer. "Can I see your gun?"

Spencer glanced to Daryl as in a way of permission.

"Go 'head," Daryl said with a shrug, crossing his arms. "I wanna see this."

Even with all the weirdness between them, Beth sent a grateful, though tiny, smile in his direction.

Spencer eased the rifle off his shoulder and held it out to Beth. "Be careful. It's pretty heavy. And the recoil-"

"Is a bitch," Beth finished for him, smoothly taking the rifle and setting it against her shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm used to it."

The walker had caught onto their scents and turned to follow the trail. Beth peered down the scope, sighted in on the less gruesome side of the walker's face, and took a fathomless, steadying breath. Her finger hesitated on the trigger and pulled far too quick, the gun jerked, and the shot fired wide. It hit the walker's decaying shoulder. Bits of flesh and black blood exploded forth.

"Nice shot," Spencer drawled.

"Shut up," Beth snapped. "My finger slipped."

Spencer offered, "Need some help?"

Daryl clapped Spencer's shoulder. "Naw, man. She's got it."

Another obliged smile graced Beth's lips as she settled in for a second try. The walker was getting closer, but with that disconnected left foot it wouldn't be getting too far.

Her fingertip tempted the trigger, and she didn't need to take a breath this time. Instead she just held still, focused on the moment, on the kill, and _released._

 _Splat!_ Brains and juice everywhere. The walker reeled backwards and collapsed in a pile on the asphalt from the blow.

Spencer blew an appreciative whistle. "Whoa."

Beth lowered the rifle and handed it over. "Usually would've gotten it on the first try."

"Nobody's perfect," Spencer replied, stringing the rifle across his back. He gave Daryl a nod and Beth a wave. "Well, I uh, I'll see you guys later. Nice to meet you, Beth."

"You too," Beth called after him distractedly. Peering at the dead walker, she traced her fingers over the circular shaped scar on her own temple. The killshot was nearly identical.

Daryl went on to slide the gate back into place, but Beth didn't move out of the way. She stayed still, staring at the fallen walker, at the world beyond the walls. Although death, decay, and famine was out there, she realized that the seizing in her chest was the feeling of being cooped up, the urge to regain freedom.

Then he called her name. The gate was sealed, though she still stood, metal mere inches from her nose.

"Beth," Daryl reiterated. "C'mon."

Beth didn't answer because she had made a decision. Tonight, she would disappear. No matter what she felt, no matter who Daryl was, no matter who this 'family' was. Tonight, she would slip into the forest and blend into the trees and the leaves again, apart of nature and the new world. She would leave them behind.

They were too good for her.


	8. Half-Moon

The night was alive with the nocturnal creatures' cries - animals and undead beings alike joined in chorus to make themselves known to Beth as she slipped past the main gate, seemingly unheeded, and sped for the right side of the woods, where she was fairly sure that Daryl had carried her from the previous day.

At dinnertime, she'd nibbled on turkey breast and sipped on water, hoping to keep her stomach free of food so that when she had to run later she wouldn't chance getting sick. Once everyone had retired to either bed, night shifts, or the living room (the obvious center of hubbub), Beth had told Daryl that she was tired and slipped up the stairs to 'go to sleep'. Really, she had gone to grab the backpack stashed under Daryl's bed and sneak back down to one of the lower windows at the back of the house, where she made her escape.

Daryl had made the mistake of taking her into the armory earlier that day as part of her tour of the community. As Beth jogged into the woods in the present, she reached towards the small of her back where the stolen pistol was a cool, reassuring weight against her spine. Otherwise, she only had her pocketknife, her good arm, and two feet to take out any oncoming threats.

The stolen backpack with all of the equally stolen goods bounced against her back in a crazy rhythm much different than the one of her boots against the earth. Moans and snarls chased after her, closer on her heels than she wished. So far, since she'd walked through the front gate and back into freedom, all she had done was run from walkers.

Swift feet and light, quick steps, zig-zagging back and forth to confuse the predators. Breathing literally hurt with each intake. Had it been thirty minutes or an hour already? She couldn't tell, but from the way her heart sped and her mouth gasped for air, she knew she'd been running long, and hard.

Her boots splashed into a creek and the freezing water hit her thighs, making her gasp in shock. She waded through with a little too much noise, but taking it slow wasn't an option when you had walkers on your ass.

Finally, she lost the walkers. She took an even breath, rested for a moment. _It's over for now._

But she gained a different predator - a human. An _alive_ one.

 _Footsteps and no growl._ A man or a woman? She got up from her resting place and crept along the forest floor, slowing her pace down to a stealthy walk, and pressed her back to a tree. The walkers were catching up again; they caught onto her scent like bloodhounds and yowled at the half-moon.

Glancing about with her limited vision, she pulled the pistol from her jeans. She thumbed the hammer, squared her feet, and readied for the fight.

The first walker came from behind her tree with gnarly arms extended and jaw gaping, snarling and gurgling. Beth launched into action and smashes its skull in with the butt of her gun. It fell without much fight, and she sighed in relief.

Then the walkers' friends showed up to the party.

She was fighting them off, one by one. Shooting, kicking, squashing heads like rotted pumpkins under her boot's heel. _Click, click_. Her gun was empty. Her knife got stuck in a walker's skull and she couldn't get a grip on the stick beneath her as the walker struggled to sink its teeth into the flesh of her neck. She squirmed and wiggled like a worm but her good arm was reaching for a weapon and her bad arm was of no help. She could smell the walker's decay, see the vacancy of light in once humane eyes, and feel the realization that in just seconds she would be walker food.

"Beth!" Daryl screeched. He yanked it off of her and turned it over. The walker lashed out in his arms, teeth bared and hands flailing to grab onto any part of him to devour.

She sprung to action and stabbed the walker clear through the eye with a stick, the wood on flesh making a disgusting _squelch!_ that sent the hairs on Daryl's arms on the fritz. The second it stopped moving he chucked the corpse aside. They had taken it down together - just like the first time, in the woods, after the prison.

When she fell back on her ass again, chest heaving to catch up with the rest of her anatomy, he kneeled, grabbed her by her thin shoulders, and peered into her eyes.

"Beth," he panted. He was fighting the major urge to pull her into his arms and carry her back to Alexandria then and there. "You okay?"

She shook free of him and struggled to her feet. "I'm fine," she retaliated. "And I didn't need you to do that! I _had_ it!"

Taken aback, all he could do was grunt in surprise: "Yer welcome."

" _No_." Beth angrily stuffed the gun under her shirt. "That was _not_ a thank you."

He stared at her, eyes wide. This was not at all like the Beth he knew.

"What are you doin' out here, anyway?" she sneered.

Daryl clenched his jaw. "Could ask you the same thing."

"Whatever." Spinning on the heel of her boot, Beth went to tear off in the same direction she had been traveling - but Daryl launched forward and grabbed her arm again and spun her roughly to face him. They were nearly nose to nose, breath to breath. All he could hear besides the dead occupying the night around them was his pulse rattling his eardrums.

Dumbfounded, he simply stared, maw gaping like a fish out of water. Beth wasted no time; she wiggled in his clutches.

"Let _go_ of me, Daryl!"

"Naw," he didn't hesitate this time. "Not again."

She softened. He could sense it in his fingers, in his bones. Her eyes went all melty and blurry at the edges and her lips trembled even when she bit down hard. She had stopped moving altogether other than the never-ending tremble resonating in her gimp arm.

"I can't."

"Yeah, ya _can."_ The growl in his throat rumbled down into his chest, almost animalistic.

"No. No, I can't!"

"Yer comin' back with me," he urged, trying so hard not to sound desperate and drastically failing. "Ya only been there a day and half. Ain't even had time to get to know us."

"Maybe I don't _want_ to!"

Her scream shut him up quick. Their eyes locked until she jerked again, attempting to get away from him. He released her that time. If only because his entire body felt limp.

"You can't _force_ me to do _anything,"_ Beth growled through gritted teeth. What empathy she'd felt moments before washed away. "All of y'all - you act like I'm some kid to be dragged around! Well, I'm not! It's still a free country, and dammit, if I wanna go off on my own, I _can!"_

"What if ya don't need to?"

"Don't _need_ to?"

"Why do ya think ya have to leave?"

"Because I don't belong there!"

"Why do ya think that?"

Beth raised an eyebrow. "Did you not hear what I just said?" Once more, her demeanor mellowed and she took a step back - both a physical and mental one. "I told you I couldn't stay," she said softly, not quite meeting his eyes. "I want to but I've got somewhere to go."

Shredded - his heart, his soul, his _insides,_ all frayed to the marrow. Did this girl know what she did to him? How much every fighting word thrown his way tore him apart?

"Where ya gotta go?" asked Daryl finally, in an almost weak growl.

Adverted eyes and shaky lips. Beth's anger completely dissipated. All that was left was fear, and once the enraged skin was peeled back, Daryl could see just how terrified she was.

"I can't stay there," she whispered, her chilled breath fading upwards.

"Why?"

"I don't know them and I don't know _you_ no matter how hard I try to remember. I don't even know myself. I'm not this Beth that everyone keeps sayin' I am. I don't know who the hell Beth is because _she's_ not _me_!" She barked a humorless laugh. "But out here . . ." she glanced into the surrounding darkness. ". . . _that's_ who I am. I know the line, I know the _difference_ between me and _them_. I'm alive. I'm free. I'm not dead."

"Ya only been there a day and a half," Daryl fought back. "Haven't even met everybody yet."

She shook her head, backed farther and farther off.

"Beth."

She made the mistake of looking at him again. She made the mistake of catching his eye and recalling that memory, the first retrieval of her life _before_ , where this man was stuffing a backpack full of cash and gold - of which both things which held no value in this new world. This man with dark, long hair and blue eyes and dirty angel's wings.

She made the mistake of _feeling_ for him.

"Stay." He didn't plead, didn't beg or whine, just said it. Straightforward and honest in his intentions, but gentle. "Stay, Beth."

She fought a weary smile. A part of her trusted this man, liked him even. He was the only person in the world that she knew other than herself _but she didn't actually know him._

She decided to give him a chance to convince her, just as he had given her the chance to explain herself.

It was only fair.

"Why?"

"'Cause that's where ya belong," he explained, advancing towards her. "Not out here all by yerself. You can find out who ya are back there." He grabbed onto her good arm, his hand just an inch above hers. "I'll help."

Her chest felt so full and her heart felt so torn. Her mind was swimming, and all she wanted to do was get away, to escape into the wilderness and never look back.

 _Fight or flight?_ Stay or go? Find out who she had been or stay who she was now?

Everything raged in her head and she could feel another episode rising, tears flooding her ducts, and her lips moving without her permission:

"I don't know if I _want_ to. Don't you get that? I just _don't know,_ Daryl."

He moved his hand down so his warm, callused fingers touched hers slightly.

"Let's make a deal then," he suggested. "Stay for a week. Ya don't like it, you can leave."

Beth stared at his hand where it touched hers. For a second, she could've sworn she felt the eerie sense of deja vu, that this wasn't the first time Daryl had held her hand. She willed away the tears, and the rumblings that signaled the beginning of an episode halted abruptly. Her chest still felt full to the brim but it longer like she was about to explode.

She whispered, "What if I do like it . . . but I still can't remember anyone or anything?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, and she realized he was trying to smile.

"I'll help ya with that, too."

His eyes held nothing but honesty and that same intense emotion she had yet to decipher—an emotion as warm as his fingers and as strong as his arms.

Beth could feel a smile of her own making its way onto her face. Distant moans and snarls echoed in a circumference around them in the forest, where she believed she belonged. But a teeny tiny sliver of her mind wondered: _Was it really? Can I belong in Alexandria? With them?_

 _Might as well try._

"Okay."


	9. Lock and Key

Together, they closed the gate behind them and let go of the railing. Together, they walked through the sleeping community to Rick's house - where their leader was waiting on the porch steps when they returned. His eyebrows only rose an inch when he took in the bits of blood and brains on their clothes.

"Y'all alright?"

Daryl shouldered his crossbow and allowed Beth to trot up the steps first. The two men exchanged a telepathic look that conveyed all they wouldn't say in front of their guest.

"Yeah. We're good."

Beth, more than surprised, more than grateful for the cover-up, entered the house behind Rick without any further input. _No reason to stir up trouble,_ she thought as she tossed the backpack onto the kitchen island and pulled the gun from her belt. Rick said nothing more than a 'thank you' and a 'goodnight' before he released her. She realized, as she made her way to her borrowed lodging, that a slap across her knuckles wouldn't come.

They had _expected_ her to run.

Together, she and Daryl climbed the stairs to the second floor and the room that he was loaning her. When he left her at the bedroom door, his timid smile became a grin and when she asked what he was smiling about, he shook his head and walked away.

"Goodnight, Daryl," she called after him softly, not wanting to wake the others. "And, um . . . thanks."

He stopped at the top of the stairs and tipped his head in her direction, like an old Western cowboy tipping the brim of his hat.

"Sleep tight."

* * *

She slept for seventeen hours straight. Clear through the night, the morning, and well into the afternoon of the following day. No one disturbed her. Michonne checked in on her twice before she left to patrol the community and even Rick left a glass of water and a crust of bread on the nightstand in case she woke up hungry.

By the time Beth came to, the sun was quite close to settling in for its own night of sleep and the pillow's imprint on her cheek wouldn't rub off. She chugged the water, disregarded the bread, pulled on her boots, and went in search of the bathroom. Not only was her skin grimy and her hair straw-like, but the walker blood was still splattered like war paint from her eyebrows to her shins. She locked herself in the bathroom and stripped, the prospect of hot water and soap giving her a slight thrill. She hadn't properly showered since the hospital, and even then, she never felt completely refreshed.

A pale yellow sundress had been left on the bed for her, alongside a thin white sweater, a few toiletries, and a pretty silver chain. It was more manly than dainty, and she wondered who had left it for her in the first place - but still, she adorned her neck with it nonetheless, as to not hurt the gifter's feelings.

The chain felt cool and heavy on her skin.

The final nail in her coffin, a key turning in a lock, a book snapping shut in a gust of wind - well, at least a chapter in said book.

Even if Daryl had given her a week to decide, there was no turning back now.

* * *

Michonne was the one who came to retrieve Beth. She wasn't dressed much differently, other than her dreads being tied back in a low pony at the nape of her neck instead of hanging all about her face in a dark, twisted curtain.

"Don't you look nice," Michonne teased with what Beth was realizing as one of her trademark, face-splitting grins. Trademark - but majorly rare.

Beth shrugged nonchalantly. Her anxious fingers smoothed the flowing skirt over and over.

"Thanks. I really like this dress."

Michonne considered it. Then, with another smile, she commented, "It's your color."

"Did _you_ leave it for me?"

"Nope. 'Fraid not. As you can see, I'm not really the fashion consultant around here."

"Then who did?" Beth wondered aloud, frowning at her reflection in the mirror hanging above the dresser with all of Daryl's trophies strewn across its surface. Wet hair slowly but surely drying into wispy ringlets framed her flushed face. Even her lips were a bit rosier than she recalled.

"Probably Carol."

"Carol?" The name struck a chord in her mind, thumbed a trigger. Where had she heard that name?

"Yeah. Carol. She's one of ours. Rick told her about you."

Beth frowned. "Who else has he told about me? I thought I was supposed to be some kinda secret."

"Well," Michonne let loose a sigh as she sunk onto the end of the bed. "Sorta kinda, yeah. But you're gonna meet everyone tonight. Our entire family."

Black spots. Multicolored dots. Her right hand shaking, her body quaking. No response came past her lips other than a subdued whimper and she clenched her eyelids shut and sucked in the deepest breath possible. The room around her faded into nothingness, into mere atoms and shadows. She was floating - but not in a pleasurable way.

It may have been a minute or ten, but _she did it._ She willed away another episode.

 _I'm getting better,_ Beth thought. _I'm getting past them._

"Beth?"

The girl in question circled about to face Michonne. Her right arm was still trembling against her side, and she could feel Michonne's dark eyes watching her tightened fist.

"Fill me in first," Beth commanded softly. "I don't want to walk into a minefield. Tell me who's who first."

Michonne stared at her, eyebrows knitted and kind face immediately serious. Considering once again. Weighing the pros and cons.

"I don't think you're ready to meet them yet," she said. "Maybe I should tell Rick - "

" _No,_ " Fiercely, she protested, " I am. I'm ready. Just - just tell me, will you?"

Michonne blinked up at the girl who she'd hardly ever heard be short with anyone; the same girl who always had a kind word and a sweet song, never a harsh voice. She blinked as if the image in front of her would change, but it did not - the girl before her was still Beth, but now she saw the differences in her friend beyond the scars.

"Can't promise that at least one of 'em won't freak you out."

Beth plopped down next to Michonne on the mattress and crossed her legs Indian-style beneath her. Her heart was racing frantically and her mind was screaming _DON'T DO IT_ but, _dammit,_ if she was going to try to be apart of this place, of this family, she was going all in.

"I can handle it."

 _Liar, liar, pants on fire_ taunted a tiny, menacing voice at the base of her skull. A voice that hadn't reared its ugly since she'd been inside the walls. For the many days and many nights out in the wild, this voice had been her lone companion and her most avid foe, the ugly, writhing thing that told her she was damaged and worthless and should just give up, just give in.

She fought the inner tormentor with tooth and nail as Michonne listed each person in the group and described them to her.

It was pure hell when your own mind turned against you.

* * *

When Beth entered the living room behind the clustered shield of Daryl, Michonne, and Rick, she found that - just as twice before - every voice fell silent around her.

"Everyone," Rick announced, Michonne by his elbow and a small glass of scotch in his grip. "This is Beth, our guest. Please, don't do anything to—"

A blur of blue and brown flew at Beth and before she could defend herself, before she could block off the hug, the woman's arms were around her, tight and unforgivingly passionate.

"Oh, my God!" The stranger sobbed into Beth's shoulder, into her hair. " _Oh my God._ How are you alive?" She broke the embrace to see her sister's face, to caress Beth's cheeks, all the while smiling like an idiot.

The woman's insane bliss only lasted a moment.

It only took the woman a minute to realize that the look of confusion written deep into the grooves of Beth's forehead wasn't going to ease. It only took the woman _two_ minutes to realize that her little sister was trying to back away from her, and that Daryl was reaching for Beth's arm, attempting to calm the younger Greene girl—who's chest was rapidly rising and falling and eyes darting about the room for a means of escape.

Beth fell back towards Daryl subconsciously, trying and failing to keep everything under control. Hearing about this woman, the last branch of her blood kin, was much different than coming into contact with her. Only when Daryl's rough hand encompassed her own did Beth finally ease - another episode avoided.

Breathless, Beth finally managed a whisper: " _You're_ Maggie?"

Maggie's eyes swam with tears once again. Glenn crept up behind his wife and touched her waist - but Maggie jerked uneasily from Glenn's reach.

"I'm . . . Maggie. Do you . . . don't you remember me?"

"Hey," Daryl whispered near Beth's ear. "C'mon. Ya don't have t'do this tonight."

"No," Beth answered both Daryl and the woman who'd embraced her. She wet her lips to proceed: "I don't. I . . . uh, I lost . . ." she touched the circular scar on her forehead absently.

Maggie cautiously placed her fingers on Beth's forehead after her, ignoring Beth's flinch.

"You did?"

"Yeah."

"Because of . . . " Maggie's fingers fell to her lips, stopping the quiver there.

No one had to be a genius to know what was replaying in the older Greene sister's mind, or everyone else's in the room, for that matter.

Beth cleared her throat. "Um, yeah."

"Oh, Bethie. I'm . . . " Eyes overflowing, mouth framed into a small _o_ of regret, terror, and disbelief. "I'm so _sorry."_

Beth held up her hands defensively before Maggie could hug her again; though she felt sorry for the pain that it wreaked upon her sister's heart, she couldn't deal with another one of those super-tight, overly-passionate embraces at the moment. Her head was still spinning from the first one.

Maggie, getting the idea, settled for patting Beth's shoulders, affectionately still. Thankful, Beth gave her a smile and placed a hand over one of Maggie's and squeezed. She did not give Maggie the forgiveness she wanted, for she did no feel that lying about such a thing - an wrong done to her she didn't even remember - and would not give Maggie false comfort.

"So," Rick politely interrupted, for the room had gone deathly quiet and everyone was shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. "You've met Maggie, and that's her husband, Glenn. Who wants to go next?"

It was a young boy with bright eyes and ruddy cheeks that did the honors of getting the party started.

"Hi," the boy greeted, sticking out a lanky arm. "I'm Carl."

* * *

Michonne went down the steps past him first, then Rick, and finally it was just Beth bringing up the rear and Daryl standing there waiting. It was her first day on the job and he decided he'd accompany her to her destination before leaving her be. The previous evening had felt like one of the longest nights of all their lives; with each person Beth 'met', her face had become paler and her lips more taut. By the time she'd gotten around to Sasha, she was spent, and soon retired for the night.

They fell into step next to each other on their walk over to Beth's assigned job, where she would be working alongside Maggie and Deanna for the time being. Not a single bit of conversation was attempted; only their footfalls filled the quiet.

The two of them were nearly to Deanna's house when Beth's boot caught on a nick in the pavement and she went to her knees. Her lame arm did nothing to hold her upright; with her better one doing all the work she nearly lost her balance and went face-first into the concrete.

" _Shit_ ," Daryl immediately grabbed her good arm to help her up. People up and down the street who'd seen the fall winced in sympathy in her direction. "You okay?"

Standing back up, Beth shimmied out of his grip and shot him an annoyed glance from the corner of her eye. Her chest was rising and falling fast and the way she touched her fingers lightly to her forehead, he knew she was about to have an episode if she didn't calm down.

"Do you pity me?"

He stared at her. That was not what he'd been expecting.

"No," he said. He didn't even waver a little.

"Because I don't _want_ or _need_ you to. I don't need _anyone's_ sympathy or pity. Especially yours, Daryl." She fisted her hands on her hips and stuck out her chin. He could see the bright red of fresh blood on her right palm, feel her anger seeping through every pore. "Sooner or later I'd start pitying myself and then it would just be game over."

He stared at her for a long, uneasy moment and then with a hint of a smile that was a cross between pride and attraction, he mumbled, "Yes ma'am."

Surprised by his smile—wondering what in the _hell_ such a weirdly tender smile could mean coming from Daryl Dixon—Beth huffed sharply and turned on her heel to stomp up Deanna's porch steps.

"See ya tonight," Daryl called after her. For some reason, he liked this feeling of getting under _her_ skin—not the other way around. He knew she was past the point of having an episode now, seeing as she was replying in full sentences and not on the ground curled up in the fetal position. Just as he always had, he loved to tease the daylights out of Beth Greene.

"Maybe you won't," she hollered back from the front door, as if her only point in saying so was to get the last word in.

Daryl kept on smiling. He smiled that secretive smile almost all day.


	10. Child's Play

**Hello, my loves! I'm so sorry to those who read the first version of this chappie I posted. I didn't mean to post that version and so I took it down. I've been in a rut lately and it's been** **hard to continue this story but I refuse to give up!** :D

 **XOXO,**

 **OceansAria :)**

* * *

"How are you alive?"

She had been in the community garden a good amount of the day digging up weeds. It was quiet, she was left to her own devices, and no one was constantly side-eyeing her like she was the village weirdo.

Now he was here. Now he was looking at her with narrowed eyes and a pursed mouth, and she knew that it wasn't scorn in the twist of his lips but fear. Concern. Curiosity.

She could tell he'd been itching to ask this question for days. For the entire _week_ she'd been staying under Rick's roof, sleeping in Daryl's bed, wearing Michonne's clothes. For the entire week she'd been eating their food and hiding from Maggie and acting like things were somewhat normal—Daryl had been staring at her with this question in his keen eyes just waiting for her to get the guts up to answer.

Instead of speaking, instead of giving him that long-winded pain in the ass answer, Beth dusted her good hand off on her jeans and took one of his, pressed the fingertips of either one to the scar on her temple and then area at the back of her head where hair was never going to grow again.

Instead of telling him about the four hour long surgery to save her life, or about waking up with hardly a single memory of who she had been before that bullet, Beth took him on the shortcut. She used the word that the doctor and the officers had used over and over, like a mantra. Repeating it whenever her questions went beyond their reach, whenever she wouldn't shut up about who she could've been _before_.

"Miracle, I guess."

* * *

"I found somethin' for ya."

Beth glanced up. It was early morning on her sixth day in Alexandria and she was trying to get dressed - which wasn't easy with only one good hand. Just getting her bra hooked right was a five-minute process, if that.

She was startled (and a little suspicious) to find Daryl standing in her doorway. Or his doorway, if you put it technically. She was still using his room and he was camping out with Carl, since Michonne and Rick shared the big master bedroom at the end of the hall.

"What is it?" she asked.

He seemed hesitant to move further into the room, but he did. He walked over to her and stuck out his hand.

"Got it from the hospital."

"Grady?" gasped Beth. "You were there?"

Daryl's eyebrows scrunched, but his expression cleared just as fast as it had stormed. "Yeah. Went for you."

Beth caught the meaning slowly. "Oh." He'd come to save her. And if the scars upon her face were any indication as to his success rate . . .

 _But it isn't his fault._

"What is it?" She gingerly took the tiny, tattered book from him and flipped it back and forth in her hands.

"It's your journal."

"My journal?"

"Yeah. It was with your . . . stuff. I kept it." He fidgeted and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Promise I didn't read none of it."

Beth smirked. "Wouldn't have mattered if you did. They're not really my secrets anymore."

He bit his lip and she realized - _oh, God, why did I say that?_

"Well, uh," Daryl moved back towards the door. "Breakfast is ready when you are."

"Thanks. For, um, everything." She waved the journal lamely.

He stared at her for a fleeting second, blue eyes catching the morning sun from the window, and then nodded and closed the door behind him. Sealing her off from the rest of the house. Closing her personal space bubble and giving her a moment of privacy.

Beth flipped to the first page hesitantly and didn't get any farther than the first line and the date before she slammed the book shut and shoved it in the nightstand drawer.

Sure, the journal could help her remember. It could help her piece together her old life, or it could confuse the hell out of her.

But the girl who wrote her heart and soul into those pages was a ghost now and Beth, new Beth, didn't feel like digging that grave yet.

* * *

Weeks passed. Life went on as it always did. Daryl went on scouting missions with Aaron. Rick and Michonne tried to keep peace among the people. Youngins went to school, Maggie worked with Deanna, and for once, there wasn't hell breaking loose.

Beth stayed on. She hadn't spoken to Daryl about it, nor Rick. On the eighth day, when her feet touched the floor and her eyes met Daryl's piercing blue ones across the kitchen island, an unspoken agreement formed.

She would stay. She would work. She would _try._

But she was quiet, but not in the old Beth way when she simply didn't have something to say or was lost in her thoughts—quiet in a permanently vigilant way that set his teeth on edge with an emotion he couldn't identify.

She signed herself up for as many tasks as possible during the daytime, only appeared at meals briefly, and supposedly slept like a rock at night, not ever bothering to sit and talk in the evening.

She refrained from picking up Judith, she didn't laugh at Carl's jokes, she never sat behind Maggie and braided her hair like she used to.

She worked constantly. Playtime and make-nice-time weren't on her schedule.

As the days wore on, he believed more and more that he'd found her only to have never really _found_ _her._

* * *

Other than Judith, who liked to announce her presence pretty early with screams that ricocheted throughout the house, Daryl was usually the first one to rise in the morning at the Grimes' household. Normally he would take a piss, splash his face, and get ready for the day so that by the time Rick was up and about they could head on to their jobs.

He hadn't expected to find Beth in the bathroom, hands clenching either side of the sink like it was her lifejacket, head tucked into her chest. His first worry was that she'd had an episode. His second thought was that she was ill. Instead of rushing to her like he wanted to, he held back and rested in the doorway, watching her back move with every racing breath through her sweat-soaked t-shirt.

"You okay, Greene?"

He couldn't stop himself—Beth was far too important to brush off. Even if it annoyed or angered her, he would always be concerned for her well-being.

She raised her head just enough to look at him through the mirror. Frays of white blond hair stuck to droplets of perspiration on her brow. She took a deep breath and replied on the exhale.

"Just dandy, Dixon."

 _God she's an even bigger sass-mouth since she got back,_ he thought. Not moving from his post at the door, he watched as she flicked her gaze from him to her own face, her own reflection, and grimaced at the misshapen circular scar on her left temple.

"Looks like a star exploded on my face," she barked a humorless chuckle. "And these," she traced the two thin white scars on her cheek and right temple. "Looks like a cat clawed me or something, huh?"

This was about her scars. Not vanity, not really. Beth was nowhere near vain. Sure, she knew she wasn't ugly, but she didn't care about beauty. Beauty didn't matter—especially in this world.

This was about how her scars _came to be._

Daryl knew how _he_ felt about seeing those scars; mainly it was the first time he saw them that had shaken him to his core. When Beth had looked at him with recognition, familiarity, and subdued warmth to her big blue eyes, he'd wanted to embrace her whether she was a figment of his deluded imagination or not.

But he'd stopped the minute she got close. Because the scars, those three unparalleled demons on her face that were all his fault, _all his damn fault,_ made him see that she was _real_. That she was different. Damaged, like him. Changed—but for better or for worse? In the few weeks she'd been back with her family, he'd seen those demons thrashing around in her mind, seen them take over her body and make her act out in rash anger.

But she was still Beth.

Of course he didn't find her ugly or unattractive now. Her face was thinner and her body was more angular and powerful than soft and strong, _but she was still Beth._

Or new and improved Beth 2.0, as Carl had joked.

"You're still . . ." He trailed off, the words sticking like flies to sticky paper in his throat. "You're still beautiful, y'know."

She turned, her eyebrows knitted tightly together, and looked at him dead-on. He gulped, shifting uncomfortably in his stance. He hated when anyone looked at him so intensely; then he realized that's how he _always_ looked at her, without knowing, of course.

"Stop tryin' to flatter me," she scoffed gently. Crossing her arms over her chest (he realized then that she wasn't wearing a bra and he blushed), she sauntered out the door, brushing right past him, only to stop at her own bedroom door and speak again: "But . . . thanks anyway."

He dipped his head. "Anytime."

* * *

On their walk to work later that same morning, Daryl couldn't help but voice the question that had been bouncing around his brain for a while. Not just his, but Maggie's and Rick's, too.

"Guess you're not gonna move in with Maggie and Glenn, huh?"

Beth shrugged. "Why would I? Rosita and Abraham live there too. So does Eugene and Tara. They've got a pretty full nest. I wouldn't want to intrude."

He heard loud and clear what went unspoken: _I don't know Maggie or Glenn. Why would I live with strangers?_

Even he was technically a stranger to her. _But not stranger enough_ , he guessed.

"Maggie would kick one of them out for ya," Daryl snorted, picturing the dark-haired woman throwing Eugene's stuff out onto the street. "She would do anythin' for ya, Beth," he said in a softer voice, ducking his head.

"Exactly," Beth sighed. "She's a little too . . . _passionate_ about us being a family again."

He could see the rigidness in her shoulders hiked up by her ears, as if she were shielding herself from her sister's advances even though Maggie was nowhere near. He knew that she had accepted Maggie as her sister, accepted that she had actually blood kin in their group. But she hadn't gone further than that. Beth wasn't ready to be apart of the Brady Bunch just yet.

"Does that mean you're gonna stay on with us?"

Beth's eyes went wide and her eyebrows shot to her hairline. In the glowing sunlight of the day, her scars were nearly blurred out.

"Yeah, I guess. That a problem with you, Dixon?"

Daryl shook his head. "Naw. Just wonderin'."

She searched his face for any other motive, and, upon finding nothing threatening, she gave him a tiny, fleeting smile.

"Can I ask you something then?"

"Shoot."

"Will you take me on a run with you the next time you go?"

"Sure," he said. A thrill went through him at the thought of Beth actually wanting to spend time with him other than the mandatory family dinners and the walks to work. "Just ask Deanna for permission."

She nodded and turned to go but he stopped her with a final question.

"What's up with you callin' me Dixon?"

She shot him a sly grin. "What's up with you calling me Greene?"

He shrugged, blushing without conscious. "Just 'cause. I call a lot of my friends by their last names."

"Friends, huh?" Her voice had that _oh, really now?_ tone that he both hated and adored.

He bit his lower lip. "Yeah. Friends."

She left him then, her smile gone, and he couldn't help but think that he had just stamped the seal on a contract and signed his death certificate.

It had hit Daryl too late what she'd really been asking. _We're just friends_? Had been her hidden inquiry, and he, being a dumbass, hadn't caught on. He wished for a remote so he could rewind time back to three minutes before and he could say, _More than that._ She was more than a friend to him. She was more than a girl _friend_.

What was the word for it?

Soulmate sounded about right.

* * *

The following week, she volunteered for the run he was heading up. The group took a truck and he rode in the bed of it next to her, with their thighs touching at the edges and their bodies just barely keeping each other warm enough as to not go stiff. The group split into several smaller groups, and he couldn't believe his ears when she asked to be in his.

With Beth by his side in the woods, memories and reality flip-flopped inside his head. Memories of her light tread and gentle voice back in the days after the prison fell made a smile turn up his mouth to one side, but the reality of her frigid silence in an even colder atmosphere made his stomach recoil. He tasted vomit in his throat, and when John, the third of their group, asked a question, he had to gulp down the bile to answer.

"What?"

"I think I saw deer tracks," whispered John, pointing westward. "I'm gonna split off and follow 'em. Meet y'all back at the truck."

Daryl almost didn't say allow it. Being alone with Beth 2.0 again wasn't something he was ready for. She had sought him out specifically several times but only really when she was trying to avoid getting into an awkward social situation or needed menial help.

But Daryl consented anyway and let John go to track the deer. A full-grown buck would be a good addition to their stock back in Alexandria, and Daryl wasn't going to reject the prospect of fresh venison even just because he was being a chicken.

 _So then there were two._

"Just you and me then?" he cleared his throat to speak to the girl behind him. Watching his back, as she always had.

"Seems so. Can I take point?"

Daryl shrugged. "Sure."

So they worked like that, flowing just as easily in their every step together as they had before—but there was no sound of Beth's chatter to keep him company, no giggles or smiles to warm his freezing heart. No tiny hand taking his own. No sweet song to fill the emptiness of the woods.

But it was easy, and smooth, and beautiful. Those few hours alone as the day progressed into evening around them felt like an all-too-well rehearsed play that would never end.

"So do you really think I'm beautiful?"

Daryl huffed, adjusted his bow on his shoulder, and shushed her. The squirrel in his sights was the first one he'd seen all day and he wasn't gonna lose it because Beth finally opened her yap.

Beth sighed a little but said nothing more until the squirrel was dead and safely secured on Daryl's belt.

"So?"

"So what?" he echoed.

They'd taken a break on a fallen log after trekking through the woods for several hours without much luck other than that lone squirrel. "I asked you earlier if you really think I'm beautiful," she replied softly, though the teasing tone she'd taken to using more recently with him was intertwined there, just beneath the surface.

It took him back to that night at the funeral home. Back to " _So you do think there are still good people."_ And thinking about that night with all its what-if's was the most dangerous thing Daryl could do.

Blue eyes larger than life, the shade of the ocean at mid-morn, gazed at him expectantly. He saw old Beth in them. Innocent and wise for her young age. But the flash of old Beth fluttered away and new Beth—hardened and no longer a stranger to the grisly edges of the world—reappeared with a flourish.

Daryl took a large gulp of water to stall his answer.

Which was a mistake. The gulp was too big and it hit the wrong pipe in his throat, sending him into a coughing fit worse than any cigarette could.

"Whoa!" Beth patted his back as the coughs racked Daryl's body. "You okay?"

He sputtered, "No pity, remember?"

Frowning, she stopped patting his back and sat back until he could speak again without a cough rattling his speech.

"What? I was just teasin'."

Beth turned her face in the opposite direction, obviously unhappy with his joke.

"Whatever."

Daryl found himself staring intensely at her again. From this angle, he couldn't see her scars and it was almost like their time together before she was taken to Grady Memorial and it was just the two of them against nature.

Reaching out, he touched her hand resting on her thigh. She flinched, realized it was him, and stilled. Giving in to him, she turned her palm face up and tangled her fingers through his, as if to say _You're forgiven._ There was so much between them that never had to be said.

"'Course I really think that," he answered gruffly, lowly, as if he were telling a deeply buried secret. "Don't say what I don't mean."

She faced him once more and he felt that stirring in his gut. That "gut-feeling" that had him thinking crazy things.

Like that he should just do it—he should just _kiss her._

But he didn't. Because his mind, that ever logical bastard, said it wasn't time.

Drawing him from his thoughts, Beth leaned against him and brought his hand to her lips. The warmth she gave spread from his knuckles, up his arm, and down his legs.

"I know."

* * *

The group didn't get back to Alexandria until late that evening, and when their feet touched the ground, Beth realized that she hadn't let go of Daryl's hand yet. She realized that on the bone-chilling ride home she'd burrowed into his side for warmth without blinking an eye,

She slid her eyes over to him and swallowed back a tentative smile. Untangling her fingers from his, Beth said, "So I guess I'll see you back at home."

Daryl dipped his head in agreement but didn't release her.

"Um, I need to go. Carol needs me to help her cook dinner tonight."

There was a glint, a near sparkle, to his eye and she felt something shift in her gut.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she laughed uneasily.

"You said home," he mumbled.

"What?"

He was fighting off a smile of his own. Squeezing her fingers a final time, he relinquinshed her hand.

"Nothin'. Never mind."

"Uh, okay. See you later then."

"Maybe you won't," teased Daryl.

Her giggle was joyous and delighted this time. She shoved him playfully.

"Don't start with me, Dixon."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Greene."

* * *

The streetlights of Alexandria lit the path to Rick's house for Beth, like little Munchkins leading Dorothy down the Yellow Brick Road.

And, dammit, if she couldn't stop smiling.

She couldn't figure out what was happening between her and Daryl. She hadn't remembered anything else about him, or anyone else for that matter. The past weeks were a blur of endless days just trying to be a functional human being, and though Daryl had kept his promise about helping her, he had never pushed her. Never rushed her head on towards anything that she didn't want. She hadn't touched the journal again, purely because the thought of reading her own thoughts and not recognizing them freaked her out straight to her core.

They had held hands nearly all afternoon. They had _flirted_. Shamelessly! It had happened off and on - she'd never been entirely sure if he was flirting with her - but tonight had been blatant. If anything, on her end it was pretty damn obvious.

 _The way he looked at me . . ._ Oh, she hated herself for being such a giggly, girly mess.

 _I barely know him._

 _I barely know myself._

She had been telling herself that several times a day, a hundred times a week. Every time Daryl gave her a gentle smirk, or checked in on her, or simply gave her a hand up, she wanted to pull him closer then shove him far, far away.

 _I like him and that can't happen._

"Don't fool yourself," she sighed, taking the back steps two at a time.

Carol was waiting for her inside, wrist-deep in tenderized deer meat, pristine sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Though Beth had showered regularly, her borrowed clothes were too big and she refused to wear any other shoes that her tattered, torn and true cowboy boots.

"Hey there. How was it today?" greeted Carol.

Beth shed her jacket and went to the sink to wash up. "Fine. Didn't get much meat wise, but Meghan hit the jackpot on some medical supplies."

"Well, we always need that."

"Yeah." Beth dried her hands on a towel. "So, what do you need me to do?"

"Oh, nothing, sweetheart. You go on and relax. Dinner will be ready soon."

"What do you mean? I thought I was scheduled to help you tonight."

"Yeah, but you're tired. You don't need to stress yourself with your condition."

The anger was quick and fiery, as it always was. She knew that Carol meant no harm. She knew that.

 _But_ -

"Do you have a problem with me, Carol?"

The older woman's eyes widened. But not in shock, in mock innocence.

"Why would I have a problem with you, dear?"

"I don't know," huffed Beth, knuckles going ivory against the countertop. "You tell me."

Carol gave Beth a once-over and gestured towards a chair. "Don't get worked up. Sit down before you fall over."

Beth kept the anger under control in her expression but her tone did nothing to deny it.

"Stop _treating_ me like I'm a child! Stop it!"

"Well, that's what you are," Carol said calmly. Sweetly. Sugary sweet.

"I am _not_ a child and I am _not_ your child," Beth growled lowly. She stepped back, stumbled more like it, and tried to take a deep breath. "Where is this all coming from? You've been nothing but kind to me."

Carol pulled her hands out of the raw meat and flicked the remaining tidbits off her fingers without breaking eye contact.

"You may not see it, you may not _want_ to see it, but you're tearing this family apart."

Being stabbed in the stomach would've hurt less. Being _shot in the freakin' head_ hurt less.

 _"What?"_

"You heard me," Carol went on, no longer sweet or calm. Her eyes pierced through Beth's, and Beth could see the wolf lurking behind the sheepskin for the first time in the woman's gaze. "Your reappearance has done nothing but cause hurt. Maggie doesn't know whether to rejoice or to continue mourning. And Daryl - "

" _What about him_?"

Seething. Dripping, oozing. She felt like she was bleeding out and nothing could stop the flow. Minutes before she'd been on top of the world - now she was in Hell. All of her worst fears were being confirmed.

She was a monster - a beast. Daryl had tried to turn her into the beauty she once was and he had failed.

No.

 _She_ had failed.

Carol didn't falter. Didn't ease her tone or her glare.

"You're ruining him."

 _"Ruining?"_

"Yes. Just look at him! He lost someone who meant the world to him and then _you_ show up, give him all this hope and this joy, and rip it to shreds."

 _No no no no no no no no NO NO NO._

 _I am not his Beth. He knew that. He KNOWS that._

"Daryl knew what he was getting himself into," Beth choked out, trying her hardest not to sob. Trying not to crumple into the fetal position and never unfold.

"He may have thought he knew what he was getting himself into," sighed Carol. "But you haven't improved, have you? You haven't remembered anything else, and all that does is hurt him more." She shook her head slowly, as if disappointed, and went back to tenderizing the meat for dinner. "Beth meant a lot to all of us, but she was something special to him."

 _Beth. She. Not me. I'm not her. I'm not Beth._

"Well, what do you want me to do? Leave? I've tried. He won't let me."

Carol heaved another sigh. "No. That won't help him at all."

"So, what then? What would _please_ you?" Beth hissed. Who was this woman to think she had authority over her?

"You could try," said Carol. "Like, actually _try_ to be the Beth we all knew."

"You mean _pretend?"_

"Yes. Pretend you remember. Pretend you're _her._ " Carol's eyes brightened at the idea. "At least for a while. Until you actually remember. _If_ you do."

"That's insane," Beth sneered. "I can't pretend to be someone I'm not."

Carol gave another smile that send Beth's heart faltering with fear. There was the wolf again - ready to rip her apart if she didn't comply.

"Oh, sunshine," Carol said. "How do you think I've survived all this time in this godforsaken place?"

"You're _crazy."_

Horrified, Beth backed away. She went for the door - she needed fresh air and she needed _OUT_ \- but instead of wood she hit leather.

"Beth?"

Daryl. It was Daryl, back from helping the others with the day's haul. Daryl who helped her. Daryl who kept her calm. Daryl who _held_ _her hand_ and called her _beautiful._

"Beth? Hey, hey, hey. Loot at me. What's wrong?"

His hands were warm and strong on her shoulders, keeping her in place as he peered into her eyes and tried to decipher her bewildered look. But he couldn't see the red and yellow polka dots clouding her vision.

"Hey. You okay, Greene?"

"I think she needs to sit down," called Carol. "Get her to the couch, Daryl, before she collapses."

The room spun around Beth as she was scooped into his arms, carried to the next room, and dumped gently onto the couch. He didn't care about her dirty boots and he didn't hesitate to touch her forehead with the back of his palm, proceeding with propping a throw pillow under her head.

"Hey," grunted Daryl. "Beth, look at me."

Her vision was going from multicolored spots to black burning away the edges and she could see, distantly, his hand encasing her useless one.

"I'm gonna be right here when you wake up again," he whispered. "Ain't gonna leave ya."

She smiled deliriously. Taking her good hand, she touched his cheek and his scruffy chin.

"I'm not gonna leave you either."

Then he too was eaten by the darkness.


End file.
